


Velvet Green

by The_Artist_Formerly_Known_As_SatCat



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 404: Kylo Ren not found, F/F, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Male Masturbation, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, animal birth, mentions of slavery/servitude, past death of minor characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2020-04-24 18:43:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19179193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Artist_Formerly_Known_As_SatCat/pseuds/The_Artist_Formerly_Known_As_SatCat
Summary: Ben Solo is the Heir to Lord Solo and Lady Organa of Alderaan Manor. While an heir to immense wealth and prestige, Ben is a lonely, awkward young man who despairs of finding someone to connect with. One night, he follows the sound of laughter, and finds a young woman hiding among the trees. When she kisses him, his life is changed forever.





	Velvet Green

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bunilicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunilicious/gifts), [monsterleadmehome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsterleadmehome/gifts).



> ***This is a reposting of a deleted fic.***
> 
> Hey what's up some people have tracked me down to ask about some fics I wrote that they missed when I killed my account. By request, I am reposting some of them. I won't be checking for comments or anything else on them, since I don't really participate in the fandom much anymore.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy these in good health, and be kind to each other in the comments ok?!
> 
> ~(TAFKA)SC

Ben sighed as he slung the newborn kid across his broad shoulders. Heir to the manor he might be, but his parents were not the kind to allow their son, sole heir though he was, to sit in the house and be idle. His parents were no shiftless hedonists either, though the fortune of the Organas and the business savvy of the Solos were enough to guarantee comfort and extravagance for generations of dilettantes and loafers. No, for though the dances and feasts that his estate hosted were days (or even weeks) long, and though they invited half the country, and though they did avail themselves of every opportunity for merrymaking that those days afforded, once those feast days had ended, his parents worked every bit as hard as they feasted and danced.  
  
So it was that in the early morning on the eve of the Feast of High Summer, Ben had found himself up to his elbows in one of the four nanny goats that had dropped her kid in the last week. She had, at last, given birth to a small, black kid, but it had been a narrow affair. The kid had gotten the birth cord tangled about its neck, and had it not been for young Wexley’s keeping a sharp watch in the pre-dawn grey, both the nanny and kid might have been lost. Both had survived, but the kid was foundering, unable to fully stand, despite his nanny’s best efforts to give him a nose up. She had looked at Ben with such worried eyes, bleating her distress, that Ben had laid one of his large hands, still stained with blood and birth, on her forehead, stroking it with a thumb as he tried to soothe her.  
  
“Don’t worry, Tooka,” he said to the nanny, his deep voice gentle. “I’ll look after him.” Then Ben had lifted the kid up onto his shoulders, and was making his way to the shepherd’s hearth to lay the kid inside the stove. Sometimes, it only took a good warming for them to sort themselves out after the struggle of a difficult birth, and the kid, or lamb, would spring out, good as new.  
  
Thankfully, Tooka’s was the last of the kids to drop this Summer, and tomorrow was High Summer Day. Ben had never looked forward to the festivities, nor to being surrounded with nobles. He always felt awkward and ungainly around them — and their daughters. He would, however, relish the break from the work of the manor.  
  
“Mrs. Wexley!”  
  
A cheery-looking woman emerged, wiping her hands on her apron, then clicked her tongue at the sight of Ben’s passenger.  
  
“Master Ben! One for the oven?”  
  
He nodded. “Tooka’s kid got tangled. She’s alright, and he will be too, after a lie-in.” He hefted the kid on his shoulders to bring it into his arms, and it struggled feebly, giving a sad, frightened bleat.  
  
She _hmm!_ -ed and nodded, opening the oven door. “Master Ben, did young Tem stay with you to see how ‘twas done?”  
  
“Yes, Mrs. Wexley. He’s cleaning up now,” he replied, sliding the kid in with a word in its ear and a gentle pat on the flank, and he left the door open.  
  
She nodded her approval. “Good. He needs to learn. Mr. Wexley will be away next season, with Lord Solo.” She made to return to whatever task his entry had interrupted when she suddenly turned with an oh!. “Master Ben, Kaydel came by to say that Lady Organa is wanting you at the house. The washtub is out back if you want to clean up first.”  
  
Around back of the cottage, Ben frowned as he scrubbed his arms and hands with the cloth; he didn’t like being reminded of his father’s frequent absences from home. However, when Lord Solo was gone, Lady Organa was more attentive, so he had learned not to begrudge his father’s going too much.  
  
Entering the manor house through the kitchen due to his unsightly appearance, Ben noticed Kaydel spicing some wine, undoubtedly for his mother. She saw him, smiled, and dropped a slight curtsey, as a deeper one would almost certainly overset the wine that she was so diligently preparing.  
  
“Kaydel, is Mother in her parlor?”  
  
“Not this morning, Master Ben. She is in the pantry with Mrs. D’Acy, going over the final preparations for tomorrow.”  
  
He nodded, although Kaydel couldn’t see it. “I will be in my rooms when she has finished.”  
  
She curtseyed again. “Yes, Master Ben.”  
  
Safely in his own rooms, he stripped down, removing all of his clothing and tossing it in a basket by the door. The birthing had been rather messier than usual, with the kid so tangled, so it was simpler to start again. The chill of the water in the ewer was decidedly welcome relief from the sweat of his morning’s work and the rising heat of the summer day. Cool droplets escaped his scrubbing cloth and ran down his body, rolling against the planes of his belly and the backs of his thighs, teasing and tickling him until he chased them down with a towel.  
  
He stood then, and regarded himself in the looking glass that he had studiously avoided for so long. The last year had been kinder to Ben Solo than any before it; he had grown into his more gawky features somewhat, his chest had broadened, and his arms and legs had become stronger, the cords of muscle more defined. Were it only a matter of physique, perhaps he would not have so much cause to feel like a stumbling, bashful idiot at every feast and assembly. However, wherever the scion of Alderaan Manor went, he brought Ben Solo with him: Ben Solo who was forever saying the wrong thing, who was painfully shy, who was irrepressibly awkward. No, the young ladies of the noble families would find very little in Ben to attach them, he was certain. In the names of Organa and Solo, of course, there was a different kind of attraction. Sighing, he shook the thoughts out his head, and dressed to meet his mother.  
  
“Benjamin, darling, how do the flocks this morning?”  
  
Lady Leia Organa was an ageless beauty, who wore each succeeding decade with absolute grace and poise. She offered him a glass of wine, which he declined.  
  
“Very well, Mother. Tooka had her kid, and both seemed well enough when I left them.”  
  
She smiled; Ben’s rapport with the animals reminded her of her twin brother, Luke, who had loved and named each and every one of the creatures on the estate. He had, doubtless, named each squirrel and marten at the Abbey.  
  
“I am glad to hear it. Come, taste what Cook has made for tomorrow’s feast, advise me.”  
  
He nodded, grinning; Leia knew this was his favorite part of the High Feasts — sampling the delights when he could do so in the private company of the family. Her son was handsome and kind, thoughtful and devoted, and not for the first time, Leia wished that he could view himself as she did. They were half an hour there, as Cook explained the various dishes, sweet and savory, and Ben’s face would crinkle in delight, or his eyes roll heavenward, as he tasted each. Cook dismissed, mother and son moved to her parlor to discuss the seating of the guests, something Leia probably ought to have done with Lord Solo, but preferred to do with Ben; it allowed her to gauge his reactions to the young ladies that would be present. She was determined to see him married, but not so bent on it that she would saddle him with someone utterly unsuitable — she had seen too many unequal, unhappy marriages to force any child of hers into such an arrangement. Regrettably, not a single nobleman’s daughter yet had proven worthy of his gentle heart. Some had gone so far as to disdain him — quietly, privately, of course, but Lady Organa found out somehow, just the same, and their families were not invited to return.  
  
As Ben eyed the list, his heart began to sink. His parents were naturally inviting their closest allies and friends, but so many of the names on this list were unknown to him. He would be surrounded by strangers in his own home, expected to be a true gentleman and greet and make merry with them all… it was going to be a dreadful affair.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by a hand on his arm.  
  
“Benjamin? Are you well?”  
  
He shook his head to clear it.  
  
“Simply tired, Mother.”  
  
She smiled again, and pardoned him, and he retreated to his rooms. He sat for nearly a quarter of an hour on the corner of his bed, his fingers laced together, gathering his stray thoughts and returning them to the fold. Looking about his dressing room, his eyes lit on his reading nook, ensconced in a window that overlooked the rolling fields and the lake, and he nodded to himself. Losing himself in a book was a very pleasant notion indeed, after the physical labor of the morning and the turmoil of his heart over the upcoming feast. Several hours had slipped away, the proud orange flame of the afternoon sun spending itself toward evening, when a knock came on his door.  
  
“Master Ben, Lord Solo has returned and supper is served in the dining room.”  
  
He put down his book, marking his place with an uncut quill feather, straightened his shirt, and joined his parents for supper. Lord Solo was carving the haunch of meat when Ben entered, kissing his mother’s cheek and returning his father’s nod before taking his seat.  
  
“Ben! I was just telling your mother that I saw old Lord Kenobi in town today, so I naturally invited him and his family to the estate for the High Summer Feast.”  
  
“His family?” Ben asked with some confusion. “I thought that Kenobi's wife passed away some years back? They had no children. Surely he hasn’t remarried? He had sworn he never would.”  
  
“You remember correctly, son. However, Her Grace had a sister, one who… married to disoblige their parents.”  
  
Ben and Leia wore matching raised eyebrows.  
  
“He has been seeking her for some time now, and his search has led him here. So, of course, I invited him.” Han looked at Leia, only just becoming cognizant that he might have committed some kind of error. As he was wont to do, Han did his best to cover it with bravado. “I trust that is agreeable to you, Your Worship?” he asked archly.  
  
Leia let him stew for a moment while she pretended to consider it. “Yes, I’m glad you invited him, my love. I should like to see Old Ben again.”  
  
Ben couldn’t find it in him to care much one way or the other; he hadn’t seen Lord Kenobi since he had been a small child. He would, at least, have missed Ben’s often-embarrassing transition to manhood. He would likely have war stories as well, and that would be pleasant to listen to for a while at least.  
  
Conversation happily flowed at the dinner table; with Han’s easy demeanor, Ben’s affectionate nature, and Leia’s welcoming liberality, few subjects were taboo. However, the mixture of dread and boredom that pressed against Ben’s heart like a blunt point when he thought of the upcoming feast consumed his thoughts, and his appetite suffered.  
  
A look passed between Lord and Lady as they regarded their son’s sudden listlessness, and Han cleared his throat.  
  
“Son, I’ll be heading to the village tavern house tonight after supper to settle all of the business for the Feast tomorrow. Why don’t you come with me? I could use your sharp eye.”  
  
Ben pondered the idea for a moment, and nodded. “Of course, Father.”  
  
Getting some fresh air on the ride there and back would likely do him some good, and among the people in the tavern, people who expected nothing of him but the most meager civility, he could lose himself for a while and be someone other than Benjamin Solo, Heir of Alderaan.  
  
Lord Solo, who had spent the majority of the day confined to a carriage and then at table, opted to ride Falkon, his bay stallion, and so Ben saddled up Silencer, his black stallion, and the two Solo men made a roguishly handsome pair in deerskin riding breeches and leather boots paired with light, open summer coats. The ride into the village was short, and there was ample light left, but even had there been no sunlight, the moon was full, and the men knew the roads by heart.  
  
The wind flowed over Ben’s exposed skin, refreshing him, and he inhaled the pleasant fragrance of honeysuckle and new-mown hay, watching the stalks of wheat dance as they rode by. Near the great tree that stood on the tavern green, honey fairly dripped from the beehive, the golden glow set ablaze in tones of amber by the sun as it made for the far horizon. A chill ran up Ben’s spine, despite the warmth of the summer evening. Something was at hand, something momentous; he could _feel_ it. The trees quivered and sighed, blending with the birds’ evening song and the babble of the creek that flowed behind the tavern to create a buzz under his skin that was the most pleasant itch he had ever experienced.  
  
Lighting from their steeds, the Solos tied their horses at the watering trough and strode into Takodana, the ancient tavern with a strange name run by a tiny woman who was herself so ancient and so strange that she might have come with the property.  
  
“LORD SOLO!” her voice boomed as he entered, and the entire tavern stopped to gawk as she made her way over to the two men. Han rolled his eyes and huffed; he would have preferred to slip in quietly. Ben simply tried to disappear, cursing the flush he felt creeping up his neck and ears, and that could likely be seen even in the semi-dark of the tavern.  
  
“Maz,” Han grumbled. She smirked and gestured at a table, and the three moved to it immediately.  
  
“Young Master Ben,” she grinned at the red-faced junior Solo.  
  
“Maz,” he nodded. After the initial shock of reflexive embarrassment, the swell of anticipation returned, and he found himself equal to meet any of his fellow patrons’ gazes. As for the other tavern goers, after a brief initial burst of gossip, no one paid the Lord and his heir any further mind unless they had business with him over the coming feast. After coming to an agreement with the second merchant, a Captain Antilles who let out his laborers as hired hands, father and son were sipping from their drinks — whiskey for the lord, ale for his son — and Ben was beginning to wonder whether he had imagined the feeling that had stolen over him. He felt a fool, and was scowling into his tankard when a tinkling, musical sound wafted through the open window nearest their table. The thrumming that pressed against his skin from the inside returned, accompanied by a buzzing that felt as if he was halfway through his sixth ale, and not his first. He stood abruptly and swayed on his feet, startling his father, who regarded him with a mixture of alarm and mirth.  
  
“Son, you look like you could use some air,” Han sputtered, trying to suppress a chuckle. Who would have thought a giant like Ben couldn’t hold his drink?  
  
“Yes, I— yes. Air. Forgive me, Father,” Ben stumbled over his tongue and his feet in his haste to get out the door. Casting about him in bewilderment, his head turning this way and that, he saw no one, heard no one. Had he imagined it all? The sound of twinkling mirth caressed his ears a second time, beckoning him, and he rushed toward the sound, driven forward by the fever in his blood that the sound had ignited. Nothing could have prepared Ben for the vision that he would stumble upon: a nymph she seemed, willowy, lovely, her hair cascading down her back, a plain, dun-colored dress and muslin shawl obscuring her golden skin, bare feet prancing behind a tree. Her back was to him, and both palms rested against the bark as she peeked around the tree, then darted back behind the safety of its trunk. She turned, suppressing a giggle, and when he caught sight of her face, the breath left his body altogether. She was a vision, her hazel eyes widening in shock at seeing him, and a blush highlighting the scattered freckles on her lovely nose and cheeks. She pressed her back against the tree as he began to approach her slowly, a man in a trance, and tried to turn her head away, but something inside her was drawn to him, and her eyes remained fixed on his face. Her breath caught in her throat as he hovered, an arms-length away, a hesitant hand extended, his eyes windows to the struggle within.  
  
“Rey!”  
  
The sound of another girl’s voice broke the spell, and Ben blinked stupidly as Rey gasped and, with a look that might have been regret, she fled into the trees, disappearing from sight before Ben could stop her. His heart was on fire, and he took off after her, blundering through the woods like a charging bullock, but it was for nothing; she had vanished. He felt the loss as keenly as a knife’s edge, and he stumbled back to the clearing through the haze of tears that threatened to spill. A white smudge at the edge of his vision captured his attention: her shawl, dropped in her flight from the tree. Even a connection this tenuous was better than none at all, so he picked it up reverently, folding it with utmost care and placing it inside his coat pocket. After some fortifying breaths, he returned to the tavern and his father, but he had left his heart somewhere in the forest. Noting his flustered appearance, reddened cheeks, and distracted manner, Lord Solo thought it might be best to call it a night and return home. Ben, however, seemed determined to stay.  
  
“I’ve been indoors too long, Father. I think a little more time outside will do me some good.”  
  
“Ben, it’s getting dark; you know your mother will be beside herself with worry if you’re not home soon.”  
  
Ben nodded, and Han shrugged. His son was a fully-grown man, and certainly capable of taking care of himself.  
  
“Have you a few coins? In case you need them, you know, for another drink, or…”  
  
Ben fought the urge to roll his eyes, as a sardonic part of him that rarely surfaced made itself felt. “Of course, Father. Give my love to Mother. I’ll be home soon.”  
  
Han clapped his son on the shoulder, and shook his head. Ben had never been the sort to chase after anyone’s skirts, but Han was not so old that he had forgotten the look and feel of lovestruck youth. He mounted Falkon and returned to Alderaan with the last rays of the sun glowing in the distance. Ben stood to leave, waving to Maz, and walked into the heady perfume of a summer night. The scent of wild roses, opening to the dusk, was rich enough to turn milk to cream, and the breeze ruffled the branches of the trees, making them sway and bow. His every thought was bent on the coaxing elf in the plain dress and her bare feet, and he couldn’t stop himself from thinking of her already as _his Rey._ He knew it was probably a vain hope that she would return here for the shawl she’d lost, but something inside him whispered ‘wait!’, and if it whispered in her voice, how could he refuse? He wandered among the trees, his fingers tracing the rough bark and the velvet petals of the roses for what felt like a year and a day, when he heard a rustle in the underbrush. Heart in his throat, Ben froze, doing his best to conceal himself in the shadow of a tree that behind the corner of the tavern. The lithe, golden figure of the woman of his dreams was stealing amongst the gathering shadows of the trees, her head down as she searched along the ground, undoubtedly looking for the shawl she’d dropped. His eyes slid closed and he swallowed thickly as he rubbed the muslin in his pocket between his fingers, attempting to summon the courage to call her name. The sound of footsteps — a gasp — a soft touch on his chest. His eyes flew open and he found himself face-to-face with the nymph herself, frozen in her startle.  
  
“Rey,” he whispered, not trusting his voice, and produced her shawl from his coat. “I found… your…” His voice faltered as her hand pressed into his chest and he felt more of her weight against him. She was raising up to the tips of her toes, face tilted toward him, and for the second time that evening, she took his breath away. He lowered his mouth to hers, capturing her with a kiss. It was inexpertly done, a wet, messy business of bumping noses, but he was enraptured, and could not find the will to pull his lips away from hers. His shirtfront bunched in her grasp, and something in the air changed. His hands, which had hung uselessly at his sides, skimmed her flanks and came to rest in the curve of her back and he pulled, crushing her to him. She gasped, and then smiled against his lips, and met his need with a hunger of her own as the kiss changed from a mostly-innocent exploration to an expression of carnal passion and desire. Neither had yet learned how not to breathe, so they eventually were forced apart, but she pinched his side and picked up her skirts, laughing as she darted back into the darkening wood. He gave chase and caught her easily, scooping her up into his arms as she gave a giddy yelp and pulling her in for another taste of her honeyed kiss.  
  
“Allow me to escort you home?” Ben may have been dying to touch and taste her, to delight all of his senses with her, but he was not so sheltered as to be ignorant of what might befall Rey if she were to see herself home — or if she were to fail to return home at all. In the moonlight, he could see her face fall, and her shoulders droop.  
  
“I… that is very good of you.” Her dismay was clear. Keeping her hand, he walked her around the front of the tavern and untied Silencer from the post. She gasped with delight on seeing the beast, immediately offering her hand to make his acquaintance. The stallion nickered and nuzzled her hand, and Ben mounted Silencer smoothly, then reached down to pull her up onto the front of the saddle. She took it astride, something which both surprised and enticed him, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, kicking Silencer into a smooth trot away from the tavern. Holding her so closely, he could feel her every breath, and he was certain that she couldn’t miss his pounding heart.  
  
“Is there…” he hesitated, not knowing if he could bear knowing the answer. “Is there somewhere else I should escort you?” Beneath his arm, she was unmistakably trembling.  
  
“Anywhere, sir. Anywhere you are is far better than home.”  
  
Ben never knew that a broken heart could leap quite like that. For want of anywhere else to take her, he set Silencer toward Alderaan, and they moved at a brisk pace, the cooler night air whipping Rey’s hair and raising gooseflesh all over her body as she sat, comfortable and safe in the arms of this stranger whose pull she could not escape, even if she had wished to — but Rey did not wish to. To the netherworld with all of them — Plutt, Teedo, Terex… all of the tyrants who had tried to suffocate her, to make her pliant and obedient. Like a dandelion, she had refused to be crushed, had cast herself to the winds of fate and flown away. They had not managed to snuff out her spark, and the touch of this handsome, magnetic stranger had caused that spark to burst into flame. The silvery moon shed her light across the broad, verdant leas and meadows, making the grass look as soft as velvet green. When Ben suddenly veered off the path, she leaned into him, one hand moving to grip his thigh, and the other his arm that was still looped around her waist. Pulling up on the reins, Ben dismounted, then captured her shapely waist to lift her from the saddle, and he could not resist stealing a kiss along the way. Holding Silencer’s lead in one hand and Rey’s hand in the other, he put his horse in the stable and led his lady away. The long grasses swayed in the evening cool, a soft carpet beneath her bare feet, and they walked to the banks of the lake, where the moonlight danced across the water and made it sparkle.  
  
He pulled her against him and captured her lips in earnest. Rounding his hands over her maddeningly firm bottom, he hefted her up, holding her against him so that he could kiss her without risking a crick in his neck, and she responded eagerly, wrapping her legs around his waist and holding on to his shoulders as she ran her fingers up and down his neck and through his hair. Slowly, carefully, Ben sank to his knees and leaned over her until she was on the grass beneath him, her hair fanned out behind her head, far more alluring than any peacock’s display. He pulled his mouth away from her long enough to gaze at her as his hands roamed where they would.  
  
“You’re divine,” he breathed. She was the sun goddess made flesh, and he could not escape her orbit or live without her light. He kissed her again, this time on her face, moving down the side of her neck, and she gasped beneath him, pushing at the lapels of his coat until he understood that she wanted it off. As he pulled back to remove it, she sat up trailed and her fingers up and down his chest, down to the waist of his breeches. His breeches were already sporting a telltale bulge, and a strange thrill ran through her that made her shiver. As he lowered himself back down to her, she fiddled with the stays on the front of her bodice, allowing her dress to spill open in the front. He regarded her as if she had just gifted him the most precious thing on earth, and he lowered his lips, kissing down her breastbone and into the valley between her breasts. She ran her fingers through his hair and made exultant sounds as he followed his own instinctual drives and took each breast in his hands and in his mouth, a cartographer mapping terra incognita, and she was an entire world for him to explore.  
  
“Please… please!” she gasped.  
  
“Tell me, Rey. I’ll do anything you ask, my love.”  
  
She did not ask; she could not form the words to do so. Instead, she began tearing at his shirt in exasperation, working it up and over his head and touching everything that she could see, and a vast deal more that she could not. Ben groaned, his hips bucking toward her as his body commanded. Peeling the layer of her bodice away, Rey was left in a shift, and she rose up to her knees to pull it up and over her head. Awestruck, Ben could do little more than lick his lips at the feast laid out before him; nothing that would be served tomorrow could possibly compare, and Ben would be happily ruined if he could only gorge himself on the vision before him. He felt her fingers trace over his groin, and he laid forward, resting his head against her shoulder and breathing in short puffs until he could be certain he was once again on solid earth. His tongue flicked out, licking the hollows of her shoulders and mouthing the side of her neck as Rey threw her head back and made sounds that pushed him toward a point of no return. Then, inexplicably, she tipped her head back and laughed, loudly and clearly. Ben could never begrudge anything that brought her joy, but he was certainly confused, and wondered if perhaps his manly pride ought to be wounded. He regarded her with an expectant look.  
  
“Here we are,” she shook her head, giggling, “you’re tight against your seam, about to make a Springtide fool of me, and I don’t even know your name!”  
  
He blushed for shame; he had known her name because her companion had called it, and he had not thought to give her his own. The thought of _giving her his name_ shot through him like a thunderbolt, and his shame was replaced with the need to give all of himself to her, and he could barely move for the urgent but jumbled commands issued by his heart, his mind, and his body. It was nothing short of miraculous that he managed to keep the breeches intact as he yanked at both his boots and then shoved his trousers down as fast as he could make his trembling hands move. The involuntary gasp that she gave when he was fully bared before her made him swell impossibly fuller, and he knelt before her, kissing up the inside of each of her thighs and making her mewl with anticipation. When he unexpectedly ignored the place crying out to be touched most of all, she bit back a whine of impatience, and arched toward him as his hands ran up the sides of her body. He showered her belly and bosom with kisses, licks, and gentle nips, and she keened, certain that she was going to lose her mind before she lost anything else.  
  
“Ben,” he whispered, his voice deep and dark in her ear. “My name is Ben.”  
  
“Ben,” she purred, and his hips and voice stuttered in agonizing pleasure. “Be gentle, please?”  
  
_“Yesss,”_ he breathed, and held the curves of her waist with firm, yet tender hands as he kissed his way back down. He gave an experimental nudge at the apex of her thighs, and she gasped, and he froze.  
  
“Are you afraid?” he asked her, bending down to nuzzle and kiss her breast. She made to shake her head and thought better of it.  
  
“Yes. But I _want,_ Ben. Don’t you? Don’t you feel it too?”  
  
A moan was his only answer as she drug her nails in circles against his scalp, and he continued to press against her, leaving a heavy, slick wetness wherever they met. He forced his eyes open and gazed into hers as he advanced, so slowly it was almost painful, watching her eyes go wider, seeing them grow darker. She was hot against him, almost startlingly so, and the fit was perhaps a little too snug, but the primal knowledge of his body had him rocking, gently, moving his hips just so, and he was rewarded with guttural moans, nails against his skin, and, best of all, steady ingress. When he felt himself seated fully inside of this glorious creature who was giving him this incomparable gift, he found he had to fight against his own animal urges to rut, to mark, to claim. His nostrils flared as he breathed, and he could not think at all; he could only feel, he could only move, he could only take, he could only give. Rey, though, was pulling his hair and sending jolts of pleasure all through him, panting and rocking her own hips with movements that looked tiny, but felt as though the earth had fallen away all around them. There was only him, and her, they were the universe in absolute harmony.  
  
She moved, and he growled, and he pushed, and she moaned, and the sounds they made were the oldest song known to humankind. A stuttered name, a throaty cry, a shared pleasure, simple and exquisite. He pulled her close then, and held her to his breast, and told her that she need never be parted from him again, that he would take care of everything. She wanted so much to believe him, to believe that it was love, and not simply lust, and at least for tonight, she would believe him. She had found a home, and that home was like heaven. That home was Ben. Sated, close, happy, they dozed under the moonlight to the chirping of the crickets and the lazy sway of the verdure in the wind.

  


* * *

The moon was still riding high and full in the sky, spilling her ethereal glow on the lovers sprawled across the grass, when Ben became conscious of something shaking beside him. He blinked, his body happily twinging in places he’d never paid much attention to before, and cast his gaze softly toward the woman by his side. But Rey, his darling Rey was shivering, her smaller frame failing to warm her. Trailing lazy kisses down her neck and side, he propped himself up on one elbow and used the other hand to rub warmth and life into her limbs. As she burrowed closer, smiting his heart with little more than a wriggle, she hummed happily, and he felt himself hardening against her again. She was all he could think about, all that he wanted, and his kisses and touches became more heated, more pointed in their intent. He let her tiny murmurs and moans guide him, and as her eyes fluttered open and she slowly returned to consciousness, she smiled up at him, a beatific thing.  
  
“Ben,” she breathed. “You’re still here.”  
  
Her surprise and relief was painful to his heart. Who could ever leave her? He knew he never could.  
  
“I told you that you weren’t alone, and I meant that. You’ll never have to be alone again. I want you to join me, Rey. Stay with me. Be my wife.”  
  
“Oh Ben…” she choked out, her eyes welling up and spilling over as she began to sob, clinging to him, and his own cheeks were soon wet with tears. He pulled her closer to him, all notions of another roll in the grass forgotten, and let her feel his solid presence. She looked up at him, smiling through her tears, and pulled him down for another kiss. All he could think about was Rey, tucked away, warm and cozy in his bed, and despite what they’d just been doing, he blushed from his ears to his neck.  
  
“Ben! What have you to be shy of, all of a sudden?” she teased him, tracing a reddened ear with her fingertip. He flinched just a little, accustomed to hating his ears, and she frowned.  
  
“Did I hurt you?” Her voice was puzzled at how a gentle touch could have provoked such an unpleasant reaction.  
  
“I… they’re ridiculous…” he trailed off, somehow turning even redder.  
  
“Well, _I like them!”_ Rey declared firmly, as if daring him to make another desultory remark.  
  
“…You do?”  
  
“They’re _yours,_ silly,” she declared, gently brushing the other ear, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “They’re _perfect.”_  
  
If Ben hadn’t already been irrevocably hers, that absolute declaration would have sealed and stamped his heart with her name and likeness.  
  
“Come on,” he said, tenderly tucking a stray wisp of hair behind one of her ears. “Let’s get you someplace warm.” He helped her into her shift and let her sort out the bodice while he pulled on his own clothes and tried valiantly not to look thoroughly debauched. He offered his arm and a mischievous grin, and she tilted back her head as laughter welled out of her, an overflow of the deep springs of joy within.  
  
“Isn’t it a little late for propriety, sir?”  
  
He took mocking offense. “It is always the right time to treat a lady like a goddess!”  
  
Now Rey’s cheeks flushed, and she looked away. “I’m no lady,” she mumbled. “I come from nothing. I’m no one.”  
  
Something akin to anger flashed in his soft gaze, but he held his tongue, jaw flexing as he did his best to rein in his temper. When he did at last speak, his voice was pitched lower, his tone husky, providing ample evidence of his struggle to keep his emotions in check.  
  
“Not to me.”  
  
As they walked around the manor house to the kitchen entrance, the door stood wide open and men in aprons were carting in assorted furniture and decorations, the preparations for the High Summer feast carrying over into the wee hours of the morning. At a tug from him, the two took advantage of a lull and sprinted into the house, slipping up the stairs and into his room as quietly as possible. That they remained undetected was, to Ben’s mind, truly miraculous, and he took it as a sign of divine approbation. Shutting the door behind them perhaps slightly louder than he might have wished, Ben was pleasantly surprised to feel Rey’s arms wrap around him from behind — and then he yelped before he could smother his mouth with his hand. Her chilled fingers against his middle had truly shocked him, and the two of them stared at one another, wide-eyed with fear, as footsteps padded down the hallway.  
  
“Benjamin!” Lady Organa’s voice was that mixture of alarmed, upset, and angry that every young person learns to dread. Thankfully, Rey was in full possession of her faculties and, sadly, Rey was accustomed to hiding; she scurried underneath the bed, caring not a whit for the dust bunnies. Ben had been momentarily paralyzed, but sprang into action quickly enough, tearing off his coat and shirt and hurling them on his bed before racing back to open the door for his mother, who gasped at his sudden and unexpected appearance.  
  
“Young man, where have you been?! I was on the point of organizing a searching party!”  
  
Ben fought the urge to smile, knowing that she had been on the point of no such thing, but that she would certainly have been concerned. He _had_ been selfish, though he couldn’t find it in him to repent it.  
  
“I’ve been walking on velvet green, Mother,” he said, hoping that she wouldn’t know the verses to which he was referring — confessing to his activities in the most obscure way, because he could count on his face to give him away whenever he attempted to tell an outright falsehood. The uncomprehending look she gave him confirmed that his reference was lost on her. His conscience thus relieved, he breathed a little easier, and could give her a more intelligible, if roundabout, answer. “I’ve been on the grounds of the estate, Mother. I came back not long after Father, but I was restless, and took some time down by the banks of the lake.”  
  
Leia’s look was one of tenuous disbelief, but she merely shook her head, and her tone was almost wistful. “Benjamin Bail Organa Solo, you are your father’s son in more ways than either of you realize. I will thank you not to repeat tonight.”  
  
He was unable to meet her eyes as he flushed and mumbled, “I can assure you that is impossible, Mother.”  
  
Leia reached to touch her son’s forearm. “You are safe and well. In the end, that is all that matters.” She leaned in, and he bent down so that she could kiss his cheek.  
  
“Good night, Mother.”  
  
“Good night, dear.”  
  
He spun on his heel as soon as the latch of the door lock had clicked into place, and offered an arm to Rey.  
  
“Forgive me, my love,” he whispered, “and thank you. There will never be a need for that again.”  
  
“Only a fool says never, _Benjamin,”_ she replied, narrowing her eyes in mock outrage. “Who knows but perhaps I shall make you search high and low for me?”  
  
He swept her into an embrace with a kiss that was as passionate as it was possessive, and she melted against the solid wall of his bare chest. “Have you not done that once already, nymph? Or are you saying that I should never let you out of my grasp, lest you vanish back to your woodland kin without a trace, and doom me to wander the land forever seeking you?”  
  
She rested her head against his shoulder, and sighed. “No, Ben. You’ve already come back for me more than anyone else ever has.”  
  
He clutched her tighter, stroking her hair. “Oh, Rey… I’ll never forgive them, you know.”  
  
“Then how would I have found you?”  
  
“We were born for each other; fate would have found a way.”  
  
At that, she looked into his eyes, seeing only sincerity and tenderness, and she would have kissed him again, but her body chose that moment to make its exhaustion plain. She yawned and stretched, neither of which were delicate things, but his eyes nonetheless darkened, and his gaze was heated and hungry. Lifting up on her toes, she pressed a kiss to his jawline, and whispered, “Good night, Ben.”  
  
He blinked, then smiled. “Good night, Rey,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He pulled back the sheet and coverlet for her, and she snuggled into his bed, then looked expectantly at him. As it was, the bed barely fit him alone. With a slight shake of his head, he indicated an overstuffed chair near the hearth, and, tugging on a loose sleeping shirt, made himself as comfortable as he could. The last thing that he saw as he drifted to sleep was the face of his beloved, safe, warm, sated.  
  
The face of her beloved at peace was the first thing she saw on waking, and she was conscious of an odd soreness in her lower belly, but it was not a feeling that she could find it in her to despise. She stretched, long and languid, and he awoke to the sounds of her soft, contented groans. The sight of her, lying in his bed and looking at him with a lazy grin, was enough to have him straining against the confines of his breeches. He crossed to the bed and hovered over her, pressing kisses to her lips, her eyes, and her neck, and thumbing the still-sensitive buds of her breasts until she bit her lip to hold back a moan.  
  
“Do you know what you do to me?” he panted, reaching down to stroke her between her hips.  
  
She arched and palmed him through the front flap of his breeches, and his knees buckled.  
  
“Nothing—you don’t—do—to— _me!”_  
  
He kissed her, as desperate to taste her as he was to muffle her shriek of pleasure, and she gave herself over to his touch, every care forgotten and every wrong forgiven, secure in Ben’s attentive care. Once her bliss was complete, he pressed another kiss to her forehead.  
  
“I will go speak to my parents. Shall…” he paused and swallowed, dragging a hand through his raven hair, unable to completely conceal his nervousness. “Shall I wait for you or go down without you?”  
  
The possibility of separation from Ben washed over her like an icy wave, and her pleasure abandoned her, fear rolling in like a black tide to take its place.  
  
“My love, I give you my word, nothing will happen to you. You and I cannot be parted, not now, not ever.” He stroked her hair and brushed his thumb across her cheekbone. “Will you place your trust in me? Please?”  
  
Unable to answer, she swallowed and nodded.  
  
“You have nothing to fear, Rey. Once they know you, my parents will love you.”  
  
He pressed a final kiss to her forehead, then turned away to dress himself, drag a comb through his hair, and make his way downstairs.  
  
In the breakfast room, he found his mother and father discussing the coming feast and finalizing the seating and entertainments.  
  
“Ben!” Han greeted his son with a wide grin and an outstretched hand, which Ben ignored in favor of hugging his father — an act that left the older man stunned. He pressed a kiss to his mother’s cheek and hugged her as well, then sat down.  
  
“I—you, ah—when did you get in last night?” Han asked, finding what was possibly the least graceful way to broach the topic.  
  
“I believe within half an hour of your arrival, Father.”  
  
“Really! And here I thought that you were meeting someone!”  
  
Ben choked on his drink, and Leia scowled.  
  
“Han!”  
  
“Leia, I would know that look on any man, let alone my own son!”  
  
“You could at least be more delicate—”  
  
“I didn’t mean to,” Ben began, and his parents froze, mid-argument.  
  
“Didn’t…mean to?” Leia was flabbergasted.  
  
“I…she…” Ben jammed his fingers through his hair, frustrated with his inability to explain what had pulled them together. “It was like being drunk without drinking. I heard her, then I saw her, and she ran away from me…then she came back to me.”  
  
“Benjamin, I don’t understand,” Leia began, and Han shook his head.  
  
“I really don’t either,” said his father.  
  
Ben sighed. “Nor do I. All I know is that there was a feeling under my skin that buzzed and hummed and when I heard her laugh, it got stronger.”  
  
“Where?”  
  
“At Takodana.”  
  
Leia glared at Han, and he grimaced, throwing his hands up in resignation.  
  
“I saw her, and she was so beautiful…I’ve never seen anyone like her… But someone called her name and she ran faster than I could follow her, so I gave up and went back in, but something in my heart knew that she’d come back. She did, and…” he sighed, eyes sliding closed.  
  
“Benjamin, I know I am going to regret having asked, but…”  
  
He swallowed and nodded. “I _did_ offer to take her home first, but she looked so grieved at the idea…she was willing to go anywhere with me, so long as it wasn’t to her home.”  
  
“Well, no!” Han harrumphed. “If she were my daughter and out that late, alone—”  
  
“Which is _why_ I couldn’t let her go on her own!” Ben growled, growing more frustrated by the second. “I’d never let that happen to her!”  
  
“Benjamin…where is she now?” Leia’s face was both tender and sad, apprehension knitting her brows.  
  
He lowered his eyes, sheepish, and turned crimson from his ears down. “Upstairs.”  
  
“Benjamin Bail Organa Solo, _under my own roof?!”_ Leia’s voice rose an octave, and Han looked like he wasn’t certain whether he should affect a grave demeanor or an awed one, so he wisely averted his eyes. “And you lied to me!”  
  
“I only omitted that I wasn’t alone,” he said, his defense sounding pathetic even to his own ears. He looked at his parents, and couldn’t stop his eyes misting with tears, and he clenched his fists against the armrests of his seat. “I love her, and I won’t give her up! I asked her to marry me, and…and—” he took a fortifying breath— “I’ll do it with or without your blessing, though you must know I’d much rather have it.”  
  
Leia’s face was white as she tried to understand what her son had just communicated. She had known that he hadn’t been entirely honest with her, and Han had mentioned his suspicion of some kind of tryst. She hadn’t believed him last night, because it wasn’t like Ben to hide things from her. If what Ben had said was true, then he _hadn’t_ hidden anything from her up until last night. Han came to her rescue.  
  
“Kid,” he began, and Ben’s head snapped up. His father only called him ‘kid’ when he was exasperated—usually with Ben’s stubbornness, which Han had often called goatish. “Go to the kitchen and get the poor girl something to eat, and yourself as well, and for the love of the Sun and Moon, leave your chamber door _open_ until we decide what to do!”  
  
It had been many years since Ben had heard either of his parents quite this upset. He had meant every word, however. He rose and bowed and left for the kitchen. Kaydel was surprised to see him there, but she was the soul of tact, saying nothing about anything she might have overheard, bringing him a breakfast tray when he asked for it, and offering to carry it upstairs for him. He chose a variety of meats & cheeses, a few fruits, and some of Cook’s special creme puffs, along with two cups of tea. When they reached his chamber upstairs, it was locked from the inside.  
  
“Please open the door,” he asked, his voice pitched low so as not to carry through the whole house, and if Kaydel was shocked, she did not let it show. The bolt slid back noisily, and Rey’s joy at seeing him again was checked by the presence of Lady Organa’s maid. Her eyes darted between them, waiting for his signal that all was well or that all was lost. He kissed her cheek and reached for her hand, pulling her aside so that Kaydel could bring in the breakfast tray.  
  
“A word, Kaydel.” His voice was a near-whisper, but the maid finished laying out the tray and approached. “How much did you overhear?”  
  
“Master Ben, I am not in the habit of evesdropping—”  
  
“And we are not in the habit of shouting.” He shook his head, and gave a weak smile. “I am not angry, Kaydel. I require your help.”  
  
“Master Ben, I will not be party to grieving your mother.” Her face was grave, and her tone as much reproof as she felt she could be forgiven toward the son of the manor.  
  
He sighed, frustrated. “Of _course_ not, Kaydel! However, my mother is a generous woman, and I do not believe that helping Rey with her hair and dress so that my parents can meet her would be a source of grief to her!”  
  
Rey’s face was scarlet, and her appetite was waning quickly. “I don’t want to be any more trouble,” she mumbled, staring at her feet.  
  
Ben’s gaze instantly softened, and he drew an arm around her. “You’re not, sweetheart.” She wrapped her arms around his waist, clinging as if he were a reed in a raging river.  
  
In the face of the girl’s fear and embarrassment, Kaydel could hardly make things more difficult for her.  
  
“Sit and eat, and I’ll work on your hair.”  
  
“There, see?” Ben soothed. “No trouble at all.”  
  
Within a quarter of an hour, Rey’s hair was presentable, a simple, low twist highlighting her natural beauty. With a long, serious look at the young master, Kaydel left to attend to her Lady, leaving the door open as she went. Ben walked over to the dressing table where she sat, and bent down to kiss her neck.  
  
“You are bewitching, my love.”  
  
“Ben… what did your parents say?” She thought about the identity of his parents, the things she’d seen and heard finally settling into place. _“Benjamin Bail Organa Solo!”,_ his mother had cried. Had she not been sitting down, her knees would have buckled. His parents were Lord Solo and Lady Organa, she realized. They owned almost the entire county, and this must be Alderaan Manor.  
  
“…what they think is best,” he concluded, then paused, taking in her pale face. “Rey?”  
  
“I don’t belong here…I am no lady, and your parents will know instantly not worthy of their house. After all, I have no parents, no money, nothing to offer…my own parents did not want me. Why would anyone else’s?” Her wide, frightened eyes were darting in alarm.  
  
He knelt beside her, taking her face in his hands. “Don’t say things like that. You are the only woman in the world that I can imagine by my side as my wife. They will love you as soon as they see you, I know it. Your parents were absolute fools, but I’m grateful.”  
  
Rey had little time to wring her hands over it; the Lord and Lady themselves stood at their son’s chamber door. A gentle clearing of the throat, and Ben was on his feet, his enormous frame obscuring Rey from his parents’ view.  
  
“Benjamin.”  
  
He took a deep breath. “Mother. Father.”  
  
“Are you going to let us meet her? Or do you intend to hide her in the cupboards?” Leia’s tone was arch, but not unkind, and Ben stepped back, extending a hand for Rey to take. She stood, though she knew not how her quivering legs supported her, and together, they walked over to the door. Rey instantly dropped into a curtsey, trusting that Ben would keep her upright, if it came down to it. Leia’s next breath made plain her surprise, and a meaningful look passed between herself and Han which neither Rey nor Ben comprehended.  
  
“Mother, Father, this is Rey. Rey, Lord Solo and Lady Organa.”  
  
“Rey…?” Lord Solo trailed off meaningfully, and Rey could not help blushing for shame. Ben mentally scrambled for something to say, to ease the agony of her embarrassment.  
  
“Thankfully,” Ben nearly spat, far more contempt washing into his tone than Han or Leia had ever heard before, “they didn’t see fit to sully her with whatever name they ruined.”  
  
Another long, meaningful look passed between the wife and her husband, and Rey wished that the floor might open up and swallow her.  
  
“I am glad to meet the woman who captured my son’s heart,” Han said, pitying Rey in her distress, and he reached for her hand, inclining his head over it.  
  
“So she is to be my daughter?” Leia asked, holding out both hands to Rey, who could only stare in dazed wonderment.  
  
All of Ben’s pent-up anxiety came out in a whooshing exhale, no longer needing to reassure Rey of something that he was not fully certain of himself.  
  
“She is.”  
  
Rey was understandably overwhelmed, and she felt tears running down her cheeks.  
  
“Forgive me! I’m sorry!” she cried as she spun around, burying her face in Ben’s chest and wrapping her arms around him, clinging ivy winding around her mighty oak, sniffling as she fought to hold in her tears.  
  
He stroked her hair and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.  
  
“It is too much!” came her muffled voice. “No one has ever cared for me, and yet you all treat me as if I were… it is too much!”  
  
“Rey.” Leia’s voice was soothing, a balm spreading over the aggravated wound of her parents’ abandonment. “Come with me. We’ll have something to drink and get you ready for tonight’s feast.” She held out an arm, and Rey shyly took it.  
  
“My love,” she said, addressing Han, “I think it would be best if _certain introductions_ were made before tonight, don’t you agree? And take Benjamin with you, won’t you?” Though perfunctorily a question, the tone of Leia’s voice did not seek counsel. Han’s eyebrows lifted, but he shook his head and shrugged.  
  
“Of course, Your Worship.” His tone was steady, and though Leia gave him a sharp look, his countenance did not waver. “Come on, Ben, we need to talk.”  
  
Ben and Rey were reluctant to be parted, but Rey was even more reluctant to displease her betrothed’s parents. _Her betrothed! How strange that sounded!_  
  
“You know,” Leia said, a warm smile on her face as they entered her dressing room, “I love Benjamin more than my own self, but he is my only child. How many times I wished for a second child, a little girl! So, you must indulge an old woman’s dream, and let me dress you as I would my daughter.” She pulled a rope near the door of the sitting room as they entered.  
  
“I should like nothing better,” Rey said, speaking around the lump in her throat and willing her tears to stay behind her eyes.  
  
“There is also the matter of knowing you better,” Leia said gently as she pulled Rey toward a heavily-embroidered sofa, and the two women sat.  
  
“I fear there’s not much to tell, Lady Organa,” Rey began, folding her hands demurely in her lap. “I am an orphan and my _care,_ if you may call it that, has been at the hands of Master Plutt of Jakku.”  
  
Rey was interrupted by a knock on the door.  
  
“My Lady?” Kaydel asked, dropping a curtsey to Leia.  
  
“Kindly prepare a bath for Rey.”  
  
Kaydel curtsied again and left, and Leia turned back to Rey. “Jakku is halfway around the world from here.” Leia’s tone was light and casual, but she was paying the strictest attention; despite her desire to welcome, love, and trust Rey, she would have been remiss not to remain alert for any indication that her son was being taken for a fool.  
  
“Yes… I have been part of his caravan for nearly 15 years. He’s a travelling trader, and used me to salvage and repair things.”  
  
Leia’s head tilted as she took in the information. Her surprise was understandable—there were few bodgers or tinkerers who were not men—but it did not last long.  
  
“How came you to be with Plutt?”  
  
“He told me that my parents gave me to him.”  
  
Leia’s brow arched. “‘He told you’? So, you don’t believe him?”  
  
“It’s… it’s not that simple. See, Master Plutt doesn’t just trade in _things.”_  
  
Leia’s mouth fell open in astonishment.  
  
“And… I wasn’t the first who tried to run, but I think I might be one of the few, if not the only, who succeeded.” She looked at Leia with the misty eyes of gratitude. “And I succeeded because Ben took me into his protection.”  
  
“Oh Rey.” Leia’s own eyes were shining with tears. “How much you must have gone through!” She wrapped the younger woman in a hug before she could stop herself.  
  
“But what about Ben? How is a man like him not already married?”  
  
Leia was only too happy to talk about Ben, and her pride in her son shone in every word of praise. They talked at length of Ben and of Alderaan until Kaydel came in to announce that the bath was prepared, and Rey was led away for a thorough scrubbing. She was still lingering in the warm water when Leia knocked and was admitted bearing an armful of fabric. Rey sat up in alarm, then sank back down into the water until it covered her breasts.  
  
“Don’t be silly, Rey, it’s nothing I haven’t seen,” Leia chided lovingly. She was already beginning to look on Rey as quite her own daughter, and was ready to spoil the girl. “Come out of the bath and get dry, and we’ll see what suits you best.” With an aside to Kaydel, she swept out of the room, and Rey was left gaping in her wake.  
  
By the time Lord Solo had returned, Rey had been pressed to accept four new dresses in varying shades of green, blue, and ivory, and no fewer than a dozen different bodices, as well as a few simple pieces of jewelry to set them off. Though she had valiantly resisted, Leia had overcome her pleas by insisting that these had been gifts that did not suit her and which she had no intention to alter, and begging Rey, “Please simply accept the kindness that I would happily give to my own daughter, had I been graced with one.”  
  
Dressed now in a deep blue laced-bodice gown that set off the rich, golden tones of her skin, hair, and eyes, along with a simple pair of slippers that had materialized from another closet, Leia went down to give Rey a moment to collect herself and be equal to meeting with company.  
  
For their parts, Han had returned with Ben—and with Lord Kenobi. The younger Ben wore a look of the ‘stunned donkey’ variety, as if he had been struck over the head, and after making the barest of courtesies to his mother, who passed him in the hallway, he had gone upstairs and locked himself in his room. This certainly confused Leia, who pressed Han about it after their son had gone. For his part, Han simply shrugged, and rang the bell for refreshments, then sent the maid who brought them to fetch down Rey.  
  
“I am certain that she is the girl you’re looking for, Ben,” Han said, pouring the old knight a glass of wine. “I’ve got a good feeling about this.”  
  
Leia nodded, sipping from her own goblet. “It is too many strange coincidences otherwise,” she agreed. “But you will know the moment you see her.”  
  
Just then, the maid knocked at the parlor door and announced Rey, dipping a curtsey and leaving. On seeing Rey, Lord Kenobi smiled, and his shoulders relaxed, a feeling of peace coiling up from the very center of his being. Leia introduced them, and the bearded man reached out and clasped Rey’s hand with both of his own.  
  
“I understand that you didn’t know your parents well, and may not recall their likenesses,” Lord Kenobi said, his blue eyes kind and shining, “but I can tell you that you are the image of Sabine, before she went away.”  
  
Rey gasped, shocked by the revelation. A name. The name of her mother, who looked like her. The name of a woman who could cast away a child who was her own image.  
  
“She threw me away, as if I were nothing more than a broken pot,” Rey said, her voice small and aching.  
  
“That may be true, from a certain point of view,” he opined, settling himself in the armchair nearest Rey’s seat.  
  
“A certain point of view?!” Rey’s voice was quiet, but her confusion, tinged with outrage, was clear.  
  
“Rey, you’ll find that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our point of view,” the old knight replied not a little mysteriously, sipping his wine.  
  
“What other view can there be on the matter?” Leia scoffed. “I would move heaven and earth for Benjamin.”  
  
“I believe that in her own way, Sabine tried to.” The older man paused and looked at the young woman seated before him, who was trembling with agitation. His next words were spoken with an air of absolute finality. “No matter whether Sabine wanted you, Satine did, and I still do.”  
  
To Rey’s look of confused shock, he replied, “My late wife Satine was Sabine’s sister, and I have been looking for you, young Rey, for a long time.” He stroked his beard, and his eyes clouded with wistfulness. “A long time. Your mother was the daughter of a duke, before she fled from her father’s house.” His voice grew quiet, almost grave. “She fell in love with a young man of whom her father did not approve, and when he refused to allow them to be married, she eloped with him. Satine and I loved your mother, and supported her for as long as we could, but there came a time when Satine’s letters no longer received replies. By the time personal inquiry could replace them, no one could say where your family had gone, or when.”  
  
“Did… did the Duke know about me?” Rey asked cautiously.  
  
Kenobi paused. “My late father-in-law was a difficult man, in almost every respect. When Sabine eloped, he disinherited her, and forbade anyone from speaking of her under his roof. Of course, that did little to stop anyone, but she was never mentioned again in his presence." Seeing Rey’s face twist in pain at being rejected once more, Lord Kenobi sighed. “Rey, you have been burdened with so much to understand in the space of a day, and I did not come to you to discuss the past as much as the future.”  
  
Rey found the courage to meet his eye, and he smiled. “Satine and I set out to find you, and adopt you as our own child. You would become my heir and successor to the Kenobi estate as well as to the Duchy of Mandalore, which passed by rights to Satine on her father’s death, and is held in trust by me for Satine’s heir. She named you as her heir should your mother not be found.”  
  
If Rey had thought that her good fortune and the kindnesses bestowed on her to this point had been outrageous, she was completely unprepared for the idea that she was a noblewoman, by right. “I am sorry, forgive me, Lord Kenobi,” Rey stammered. “I am to understand that I am your niece, by marriage?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And that your late wife was my mother’s sister.”  
  
He smiled a little at her piecemeal rendering of his news. “Yes.”  
  
And that, as you and the late Duchess did not have children, you wish to adopt her sister’s daughter.”  
  
“That is correct.”  
  
“Her sister’s daughter, who has no idea how to be a gentlewoman.”  
  
He suppressed a sigh. “She will learn gentility.”  
  
“Her sister’s daughter, who has no notion of how to run an estate, will be responsible for the well-being of the tenants and servants of an entire duchy?”  
  
“I am given to understand that she has lately been engaged to marry the heir of Alderaan, who has been trained for his entire life on just how to do such a thing.”  
  
She blushed at the mention of Ben, then looked around her.  
  
“Where is he?”  
  
“In his rooms, I believe,” Leia said. “He seemed out of sorts. I hope he’s not unwell,” she sighed.  
  
Rey leapt to her feet, then remembered herself. “Excuse me!” she blurted out, and flew from the room.  
  
“Well,” Han said, smilingly, “that might have gone better.”  
  
“Perhaps, but it might have gone far, far worse,” Lord Kenobi replied, calmly taking a sip of wine.  
  
Rey knocked on the door. “Ben?”  
  
When he did not reply, she knocked again. “Ben, please let me in!”  
  
She began to feel oddly hysterical when a flushed, guilty-looking Ben opened his door. His clothes were in total disarray, his hair wild. He pulled her in, shut the door rather harder than strictly necessary, and simply stared at her, awestruck by the complete transformation that she effected. Without warning, he pinned Rey against the back of the door, kissing her with a ferocity that she had not suspected he possessed. As his body pressed into hers, the reason for his earlier appearance became obvious—he was already fully aroused, his breeches fighting a losing battle to contain him, and he thrust against her, desperate for whatever sensation he could get.  
  
“Ben!” she gasped, unable to resist him but unwilling to provoke his parents.  
  
“Rey,” he breathed, kissing up and down her throat and flicking out his tongue to wet her breasts. “Maker, Rey, I need you!”  
  
“And what,” she managed to ask between kisses, “where you doing before I arrived?”  
  
He broke off the kiss and looked at her, almost scandalized, although he had no right to be.  
  
“I want to see,” Rey whispered, so softly he almost didn’t hear her, and when he understood what she had said, he could not believe it.  
  
“You want me t— to…?”  
  
She nodded, eager. “I want you to.”  
  
His face was so red, it might have been mistaken for a tomato, but he obliged her, folding down the front of his trousers, and putting himself on display. He held out a hand to her, but when she stepped forward, eyes never moving to his face, and tried to take his hand, he shied away. She tried a second time to take his hand, and when he balked again, she finally looked at his face in confusion. He put two fingers to her lips, as if to ask her to kiss them, and when she did, he parted her lips, his touch feather-soft, grazing her tongue with his fingers. Once his fingers were wet, he took himself in hand, and Rey could only watch in fascination as he began to move. As he stroked up and down the full length, she was amazed to see the changes his own touch wrought: how the color of it changed from red to violet; how thick, clear fluid issued from the tip; and Rey was astonished that something so strange—and so huge—had ever fit inside her. Before she could even think about what she was doing, her hand darted forward to touch him, and he froze, unable to move or even breathe. The fluid was slippery, far smoother than it appeared, and as she glided her fingers around the outside edges, Ben let out a tortured sound, an animal moan that was as arousing as it was alarming. Her eyes flew to his before he could avert his gaze, and he saw that the hazel had been almost entirely replaced by black, leaving the barest ring of color. His lip curled in what was almost a feral snarl as the color left his eyes, but before he could move a muscle, her petite hand wrapped around his, and she moved to stand beside him.  
  
“Show me,” she whispered in his ear, her lips quivering against his skin.  
  
He could not refuse her.

  


There was no word Rey knew to describe what this encounter with Ben was making her feel. She was at once powerful and awestruck. She was a benevolent goddess of love and pleasure, tending to her worshipper. She was a supplicant on her knees, praying for a blessing she could not name. With each stroke, each tug and release, something was binding them closer than even their moonlight tryst. He was utterly vulnerable before her, and she relished it, she was humbled by it, and she reached for him, aching with lust. That kind of absolute trust deserved more than repayment; it deserved protection, and she wrapped him in the love that he seemed to create in her when she wrapped her hand around his own. She let herself rub against his broad, strong back, the feeling of the fabric roughly grazing her nipples contrasting with the sheer heat that seemed to pour off of him, and she made no attempt to stifle the breathy moan in his ear.

He was struck absolutely dumb, unable to do anything except take himself in hand as his lady had commanded. Then… she had reached for him. She had dragged her fingertips through the silken fluid, along the very tip, and he had almost screamed in ecstasy and spilled himself in that instant. It was the most exquisite, pleasurable pain he had ever known, and then… then she had dropped the floor out from underneath him.

“Show me,” she had said, and had taken him in her own hand, wrapped around his fingers, and her own fingers were so delicate, barely able to close. His lungs forgot how to work, and he felt as if he might at any moment burst into flames. He tumbled down, down, headlong into bliss, and if the sounds Rey was making were any indication, he was not alone.

Afterward, as Rey cleaned her hand, first by tasting it with a determined gleam in her eyes and a swift flick of her tongue (and by the Sun and Moon, if the sight of _that_ didn’t have him half hard again!), and then using the ewer of water and a towel, she asked him about the trip to find Lord Kenobi.

“It… well… have you met him before?”

“Only today. I was speaking to him before I came to your chamber.”

“Oh,” was all Ben could manage, as his mind returned to the feeling of his body pinning hers against the door. He had known that he loved her, had known almost since the second he’d first laid eyes on her glorious form, but his body’s reaction made it clear that he was hopelessly besotted.

She hesitated, a little hitch in her breathing dragging his attention back to the present. “Why were you not downstairs in the parlor? I didn’t know what to think… and I was alone, when I met Kenobi… that is to say, I didn’t have _you.”_ She sounded small, helpless, afraid, and his chest ached. “I don’t know what to think, now that—” she paused, then suddenly blurted— “did you know, Ben?”

“Know what?”

“How much I will need your help. He knew of our engagement, and said that you would help me.”

Ben sighed. It seemed that she had more ways than one to make him feel utterly exposed.

“Why were you not downstairs in the parlor, Ben?”

“We had already known that he was here looking for someone… but when Father told him who he believes you to be… he told us about your parents. Who they were. That they left you. You deserve so much more, and Rey, I was so angry, I just wanted to—” His nostrils flared as he tried to calm himself. “You never should have been abandoned! They should have taken better care of you. You should have had everything I did growing up, and more! And I… I was afraid that you would be hurt again. I couldn’t have borne to see the look on your face. I was a coward, my love. Forgive me.”

She gazed at him tenderly, reaching a hand to touch his face, but then froze, her face changing to an expression of skeptical confusion. “Wait.”

Ben’s heart plummeted into his boots.

“If you were so angry and upset, why were you… is that typical for men, to be aroused by their own anger?” _Or just typical for you?_ was the unspoken question.

His face went scarlet, and in his embarrassment, and he wondered for a brief instant whether the blood ricocheting back and forth between his brains and his groin was harmful in some way. He stammered for a moment, flailing as he tried to explain himself. He had, indeed, been in a rare fit of absolute rage when he had stormed into his chambers. But envisioning her hurt face, even her tears, he had quickly imagined himself consoling her, and that comfort had taken a decidedly erotic turn.

“Well, I… uh… no, it, um… isn’t,” he floundered, pleading with wide, dark eyes for her to save him from himself. She giggled, a dainty sound, and shook her head at him, then fixed him with a stare of the ‘come hither’ variety.

“Benjamin Bail Organa Solo,” she purred, her voice pitched dangerously low, and her teeth caught her swollen bottom lip. His eyes rolled into his head as his knees wobbled. Hearing his full name ought to have been terrifying, and in a sense, it was. “You absolute _fiend.”_

When the first wail of pleasure carried down to the parlor from upstairs, Leia simply covered her face with her hand, while Old Ben’s tilted up, appealing to Heaven for intercession. Han filled all three goblets to the brim.

* * *

Ben appeared nearly half an hour later, his ruddy glow and glassy-eyed countenance serving as absolute confirmation, if the sounds had not.

“Son? Do us all a favor, and go bathe, and for the sake of my ears, leave Rey out of it?” Han’s exasperation was half for show: all of them remembered what it was like to be young and infatuated. He was more than a little amused, though, when Ben simply nodded stupidly, drained a glass of wine in one go, and ambled back upstairs. Rey did not come down at all, and Leia’s cautious enquiry into Ben’s chambers revealed an incandescent, utterly debauched Rey, asleep in his bed. She shook her head. _To be young and foolish again!_ However, she was absolutely conquered by Rey’s obvious love of her son, and she could not pretend that the prospect of Ben’s children was not deeply thrilling to her. She quietly latched the door, and went to change and prepare for the evening’s festivities.

* * *

  
It had taken some doing to pry Ben and Rey apart once they had both been bathed and dressed, but Lady Organa was an absolute force of Nature when the situation called for it. The young couple had been upstairs in one of the drawing rooms, and Ben had been teaching her how to dance a simple ronde. She was unsure of her steps, but her trust in Ben to teach her and lead her was clear, and the love in his eyes was enough to convert the most obstinate misanthrope—or sicken them. In the end, the lovers _had_ separated, and Rey went back to the inn with Lord Kenobi to learn more about her new position and estate, and more generally to get to know her uncle.

“She will be back in a few hours, Benjamin!” Leia’s warm heart was nevertheless nearing exasperation, which increased when Ben looked at her like a mistreated puppy.

“She has gained another family member, after having spent so many years alone, my boy. Surely you can’t expect to have her all to yourself all of the time?”

Ben didn’t want to admit he _had_ hoped for exactly that, because even he, in his infatuation, could see how selfish it was. Instead, he had sulked for a full 20 minutes after Rey had gone, and nothing short of Leia threatening to make him dance with all the young women who were expected could raise his languid, lovelorn form from the sofa where he had thrown himself. Leia had the kindness to wait until his back was turned to shrug and roll her eyes.

* * *

  
“Engaged? Engaged to _whom,_ my dear Leia?!”

The Baroness of Netal had been among the first to arrive, and had brought her daughter, Lady Bazine, in a gown of dazzling white that set off the deep warmth and richness of her smooth skin and dark hair, in the hopes of catching the future Lord’s eye. This was an unexpected wrinkle, and the Baroness was all too happy to blame Leia for it. After all, the purpose of such an event was obviously to catch a wife for the young (and if rumor was to be believed, strikingly handsome, yet decidedly strange) heir to Alderaan Manor. Why invite half the country when her heir was spoken for? But perhaps the claim was not very strong, or the young woman was not suitable, and Leia was hoping he might have eyes for someone else.

“To the Duchess of Mandalore, my dear Serafine!” The Baroness noted the sparkle in Leia’s eyes, the Lady of Alderaan standing on the dais to receive her guests, dressed in a rich golden tone that was never gaudy, but a perfectly understated display of wealth and tribute to the Sun on the Feast of High Summer. She was undoubtedly pleased at catching a woman who outranked her son, and who would raise their position in the world. Serafine failed to hide her angry scowl.

“The Duchess of Mandalore,” Serafine sniffed, “has been dead for 15 years. I hardly think—”

“Oh, Rose, have you heard?” The high, lyrical voice of some irritating whelp in a passing gaggle of young strumpets, who had nothing better to do than gossip idly, rolled over the conversation. “It’s like a romantic fairy tale! The heiress to the Duchy of Mandalore, found after all these years!”

“I’ve heard she was in quite the common way,” said another.

“That sounds like jealousy, Jessica!” said a third, who must have been Rose.

“Not at all!” Jessica protested, and even had the grace to look offended. “I think it’s terribly romantic!”

“Not as romantic as young Lord Dameron!” giggled the first.

“I wish someone would die and leave me a title!” sighed Rose. “Then all the young men would be madly in love with me!”

“With your money, perhaps, dear Rose,” the first sighed again. “Money has a way of getting in men’s eyes, and you are too precious to throw away on some greedy swine, no matter his title!”

“Well, it doesn’t matter, Paige, because no one’s eyes seem to see me anyway!” Rose was pouting, her cheeks puffed out.

“Now, sister, don’t be so pessimistic! I have heard that the eldest son of Baronet Storme will be here, you know, and he always had an eye for you.”

“If only!” Rose pouted, but a smile curled on her lips, and the three girls accepted glasses of summer mead and made their way to a balcony, still giggling and teasing one another.

By the time a thoroughly irritated Serafine could speak again, she had nothing to say, but she simpered well, at least.

“Well, congratulations, Lady Organa! May their marriage be blessed by the Sun and Moon.” She beckoned her daughter, who at least had the decency to look ashamed of her mother’s obvious scheming. “Come, Bazine, I believe I saw Countess Krennic and Lady Tarkin in the other room.” Bazine curtsied to Leia, who graciously inclined her head in return, and her mother dragged her away.

“Poor Lady Netal,” Han rumbled, his nose discreetly nuzzling his wife’s ear while he handed Leia a glass of mead. “She might make a marriage just to get out of her mother’s clutches.”

“That is all but guaranteed, I believe.” Leia’s tone was dry, and she sipped her drink, looking around. “One of the young men here is bound to do for her. My money’s on the dumbstruck ginger who can’t get his eyes off of her.”

Han looked over, and saw Lord Brendol Hux’s boy gazing at Lady Netal as if she’d just descended from heaven. He smirked at his wife. “I think you might be right.”

_“Lord Ben Kenobi, Knight of the Realm, and Duchess Rey Kryze of Mandalore!”_

At the porter’s cry, absolute silence fell throughout the house, and every head turned toward the door. There had been little else talked of that evening, so the event was bound to disappoint some of the gossips and all of the hopefuls. Rey was clothed in a gown of radiant green that, thanks to the supple leather bodice, clung to every fertile swell for dear life. She wore a simple crown of white blossoms woven through a modest golden diadem, and the hair that was not done up framed her face with petal-soft curls. Her lips were a pale shade of pink, and everything she wore accented the green-gold of her beautiful hazel eyes. She clung to Old Ben, suddenly terrified to be the center of attention. With the steady wisdom of age and hands whose strength had not yet withered, he guided his young niece through the throng to the hosts of the feast, but before they could bow, Leia embraced Rey, who melted into her maternal warmth, and Han and Old Ben greeted one another as war veterans, all clasping handshakes and good cheer. Then Leia released Rey back to Lord Kenobi, and Han moved apart from Leia, summoning Ben to stand between them. Turned out in a light coat and trousers embroidered with the gold leaf and silver flower patterns of High Summer, emblems of the Sun and Moon, Ben gasped and blushed at seeing Rey. He could not hold a candle to her loveliness, even in the best finery he had to wear, and he grinned, helpless in the face of his own good fortune. With a fond smile, and a knowing look, Lord Kenobi released Rey’s hand, stepping back. Part of their culture’s oldest ceremony, the would-be bride and groom were released and their parents stood apart, allowing them to move to one another at their own pace, of their own free will, to accept one another on their own terms.

The rational part of Ben knew that she had already accepted him, had already coupled with him, and this was mere formality. The shy young man who lived in Ben Solo’s skin, however, was certain that he would expire on the spot. However, he found the courage to raise his eyes to hers, his hand extended. She was staring at him, heedless of anything beyond his eyes, lost in the fire of his passionate gaze until he began to panic.

“Please,” he whispered, barely audible, his heart in his open palm. The word was enough to jolt her out of her trance, and she flew into his arms. Giddy with relief, he grasped her waist and spun her around, and she laughed, overflowing with joy. Thankfully for all of the guests in the great hall, their kiss was brief and chaste. After all, there would be ample time for _that_ after the binding ceremony, which could not come soon enough. Something beyond mere mortal machinations must have been at work in the High Summer feast of Lady Organa and Lord Solo. For some generations to come, it would be remembered as The Feast of Love’s Glory, as so many pairings had been made that night that would shape the world. Some, like that of Lady Paige Tico of Haysia and Sir Poe Dameron of Yavin, or Viscount Armitage Hux and Lady Bazine Netal, were quickly bound together, while others, such as Dame Athena Phasma and Lady Jessica Pava, or Baronet Finn Storme and Lady Rose Tico, were in no particular hurry. The first binding, though, was Ben and Rey’s.

It was decided that the ceremony should be held in the great castle at Fortress Mandalore; Rey was adamant that she should have something to bring to the table, and Han and Leia smiled to themselves but indulged her. Han, in particular, understood how keenly she felt, because he had not been to the manor born. The most difficult part was Rey’s removal to Mandalore, to acquaint herself with everything and prepare the estate for the binding; the grief of the young lovers at being parted was almost too great to be endured, and to combat the loneliness, Rey invited the young ladies of the party and their families to journey with her. This was advantageous to everyone because, as great a house as Alderaan Manor was, to have scores of guests would have been such close quarters as to be almost uncomfortable. Too, it allowed Rey to learn from them what was expected of a young woman from a good house. Lord Kenobi bore it all with smiles and fondness, for in some small way, Satine was with him once more, and his heart was warmed to know that she would be looked after and cared for when he was no longer living.

The binding went by in a flash, and such was Rey’s nervousness that she knew herself to have been a participant, rather than feeling or remembering any of it. Well, _almost_ any of it. She did remember her first glimpse of Ben, and it took her breath away. Dressed in black, bronze, and green, he cut a dark, beautiful form, and she almost felt inadequate, unworthy of someone so handsome and kind. Then, he saw her, and it was clear that he was as stricken as she. Two hearts began to race, and their breaths quickened as the forms of each one’s beloved wavered through tears of joy. She was a vision, dressed in a gown of rich blue, embroidered all over, and trimmed with gold; her lithe and lovely form was shown to great advantage, and Ben had to fight to keep his eyes on her face, lest his body betray him and force him to cut the ceremony short to consummate it before the entire assembly. So it was that neither of them remembered anything other than their stolen, lusty glances at one another, and it felt an eternity until they were feted into a separate wing of the castle. The feasting and carousing would continue long into the morning, both amongst the guests and between the newly bound.

He carried her up the stairs, pausing on each landing to kiss her breathless, and she immediately dismissed the waiting chambermaids when they arrived. He tossed her on to the bed, eliciting a shriek of laughter, and leapt after her, pouncing on her and scorching her exposed skin with the heat of his kisses. She deftly undid the chain of his cloak, letting it flutter to the side, and pulled him down onto herself by the sides of his surcoat. Hungry, she greedily devoured his lips and tongue with her own, her hands insistently pulling his hips toward hers. Even through the clothes they were both wearing, it was plain how much they burned for one another, and their frenzy to undress one another was almost comical in its desperation. Stays nearly went out, laces flew, and had their clothes been alight, they could not have undressed faster. His nude form fully bared, Ben climbed back onto the bed, and Rey rose on her knees before him. He looked down on her face, the low fire of the room casting everything in a sort of red-gold glow, and, drunk on love and desire, was caught unprepared when he heard the sound of slick flesh sliding, was helpless when her hand, wet with her own need for him, gripped him and pulled. His gasp was met with an animal groan as she felt the heat and fullness of him, and she abandoned her teasing in favor of wrapping her arms about his neck and collapsing back on the bed, parting her knees as she fell to let him meet her body and drive deep within her.

_“My wife,”_ he groaned. _“My glorious, beautiful, wife! My wicked darling!”_

Her arching body was matched by her keening _‘Yes!’_ as she widened her thighs to allow him greater access.

_“Oh Ben… my love, delight of my body and soul…BEN!”_

Their bodies were so soaked with lust as to make everything almost unbearably smooth, and he gripped her hips, slamming into her and causing her breasts to bounce in a way that was captivating. Filled with an insatiable desire to have all of her at once, to embrace her entire form, he released her hips and reached up to brush against her nipple, his touch almost rough, and she bucked against him, wrapping her legs around his waist and trying to pull him in deeper. It was too much by half; she screamed her release, and the scratch of her nails against his back brought his steady pace to a stuttering halt as he felt himself flood inside of her. Sweating and panting, driven to exhausted bliss, they collapsed on the bed, and she nuzzled into his chest, drawn by her lingering desire and the scent of man that was peculiarly enticing.

“Husband, my Ben. How I love you!” Hearing that word, _husband,_ did things to him that his body was fighting to act on. He bent down, taking her breast into his mouth, and gave it a long kiss, sucking on it gently, as she moaned and dug her nails into the sheets.

“And I you,” he breathed, blowing chilly air over the breast he had just laved, and causing her to gasp and shiver. “Rest now, wife. I promise, this is just the beginning.”

And so it was.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Playlist:  
> 1) Jethro Tull's [album _Songs from the Wood_](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLyTnBbtXEObmTss3OLBYM-w_eEYN5fPkj), particularly [Velvet Green](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JG77YHX5yYE) (Actually a much sadder song than one would think, but I made up my own ending ^_^), and the [title track.](https://youtu.be/z4UYX2qpUK0)  
> 2) Jethro Tull - [King Henry's Madrigal](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zP4vktDPsm4)  
> 3) Jethro Tull - [Bouree](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z6ZJGaT30wk)  
> 4) Jethro Tull - [Dun Ringill](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j2fcLExDc8k)  
> 5) Jethro Tull - [Mayhem, Maybe](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9RzWE3SXqmQ)  
> 6) The entirety of [_Jacobean Lute Music_ ,](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLytKvb0jMUyYfMiXjoFIfNEvrbB-dCvQz) by Jakob Lindberg  
> 7) Lionheart's _My Fayre Ladye_ , particularly [A robyn, gentyl robyn](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CxR_FX_eCAQ) and [Blow Thy Horne, Hunter](https://youtu.be/zX7CnHNOSjM). (Tudors were straight _filthy,_ you all! In case you didn't know.)  
>   
> 


End file.
